Dream Carefully
by ChangeIsJustifiable
Summary: We all 'know' that Cloud is weak - but what about Vincent? .::. Shounen-ai, VinClou (unrequited), mild psychotica. Rated for author planning to (eventually) run away with the plot in a cliched manner. (posted 3)
1. Sleeping and Cowards

"Dream Carefully"

The Genesis of The Beginning part 1 of 7

PG for :: mild depression, cowardism, and the use of non-existant words.

**Disclaimer**: ... Please. I wouldn't be posting on or elsewhere if this was mine, and also, I'd be publishing it. (Doubt I could get money, but eh.) Also, please feel free to nit-pick. This has been reposted to fix gramatical (tense) problems.

**.::. Enter a boarder here! You know you want one! A hot blond one with no shir --- ahem. Please, ignore me. It would be best for both of us! .::.**

He had always hated being a coward. This sneaky, slimy fear of living is so detestable, a skill learned by the weak and fearful. Of course, he didn't seem like a coward, but that is only because he was a worse type of coward from the norm. He was afraid of living . . . of the unknown . . .

Lucrecia . . .

Cowards take the easy way out, the path of no risks. If asked, he could have told this much:

It's risk free to be in love with a woman who is dead.

No risk involved at all; she can't ever hurt you again.

He had grown rather fond of his martyr appearance -- of the tortured and alone soul. It makes life so much easier. None expected him to do anything but to shoot when monsters appeared. Just point the gun, pull the trigger, no risks, don't have to get close . . .

Safe.

Risk-free.

Even when he was younger, he was smart in his cowardly ways. In teenage years, one has to have someone to love, to give the most precious gift -- soul -- to, to obsess over.

Risk-free for that someone to be out of reach, not matter how far or close . . .

He would just let his subconscious pick the person. She was always beautiful, and kind, and perfect . . . perfectly unattainable. He'd gotten good at choosing the correct people to fall for.

He had slept so long in that coffin, half pleased with his own ability to hide from life so completely, half disgusted by himself. He soaked -- i stewed /i -- in his own creeping, crawling, slimy cowardice . . .

He must have gotten sick of it and not consulted himself.

At night, in the Inns, under the stars, where ever, he could be found staring blankly up; confused, prying wonderingly at the most recent developments.

He doesn't want to be a coward. He has begun struggling not to be, but with the way things were headed, he is still scared of what is happening, developing beyond his control.

He could only guess that he was growing up a little. It sounded strange to apply that thought to a grown man, but it was the truth.

Sometimes he would dream . . . soft pleasant dreams -- a nice change from the brutal twisted nightmares that he used have and still does, occasionally. These dreams have Lucrecia's face sometimes, as do his nightmares -- more often than not his nightmares are the ones that wear glasses on a small cute face with hair pulled back in a tail.

He must have slept too long for things to stay happily the way they were. He could feel it -- like a creaking crawling sensation in his bones: things are changing, people replacing memories.

He closed his eyes, immersed in blackness, and drift softly, peacefully . . .

Colors form and dance; dreams are forming. Weeks of this made him more comfortable with the sights, less disturbed by the lack of screaming and blood, the lack of a true reason and logic to this illusion. This is a dream, but not of Lucrecia. She had not visited him in a very long while.

Tonight, Vincent Valentine dreams of the sky, and a golden sun above.

**.::.TBC.::.**

_Please, who else but a girl would think up such a oddly prissy symbol/boarder/thingy? (don't ask me why a quasi-pyramid is prissy, and promise me you won't tell Reno I think that)_

_Comments would be nice. Com'n, you know you wanna make me homicidal! Or squee in glee, depending upon your message. (Strangely, critiques do make me squee. Oo)_


	2. Love and maybe Jokes

"Dream Carefully"

The Genesis of The Beginning part 2 of 7

PG for :: slight VinTi (not my intention), idiot!Vincent, and abusing the unknown factors of Vincent's experiment.

**Notes:** Yes, for some ungodly reason, VinTi seems to get hinted at here. Just wait until chapter five or so, and you'll see some Vincent VS Tifa stuff . . . which I seemed to have spoofed. Go me! I make fun of my fanfics so you don't have to!

.::. Would you like fries with that boarder? Or perhaps caramel topping? .::.

He sits in a corner, safe from contact. The group is together for once, and Cloud is trying to summarize what is going on. Frankly, Vincent dosen't understand why their 'leader' bothers, nor why the group keeps asking him to; his words never change, and they have yet to fully grasp the situation. Yet they follow him, even though they don't understand, because they are mostly content to believe him, to trust that he knows what is best, to follow him and not think about anything too much.

Vincent's eyes slip over to Tifa. As usual, she casting lovesick glances at Cloud, her cinnamon eyes awash with longing, long chocolate hair cascading around her face and shoulders, the bound ends nearly brushing the floor as she shifts. He dosen't think that Cloud has noticed her feeling, which is sort of sad -- in the sorrow sense and in the sarcastic sense -- considering her pain and obviousness. As he watches, there's a twang of sympathy pain in his chest, and his throat tightens, choking him. She will know such sadness if she continues to be a coward . . .

Over near a wall is the serene Aeris. Her knowing emerald eyes watch the scene calmly -- without malice -- her ever present smile on her graceful lips. The waterfalls of her dark amber hair swish slightly as she turns her head toward Cloud, who has given up on explaining for simply shaking his head and shrugging in response to whatever Barret is saying. He can sense that even though Aeris cares for Cloud, the love she bears for him is very different than Tifa's.

Tifa's love is odd, a panicked sort of needing. Its like she is grasping desperately for stands of hope, scrambling for something to save her from depression and dispair. Aeris, however, has a gentler way of loving someone. It hugs and sooths instead of clinging. Her love is all-emcompasing, young and less jaded. Its a way of accepting someone, of living while the present is here and not the past.

Yet, though all of this, Vincent manages to be weary of Aeris. Somehow, there is something about her that almost grates against him. Turkish insticts warn that she knows far too much, that she has nothing to lose. Her serenity is more like that of a doomed person than one who knows that she will one day have a loving family.

With this thought, Vincent stands suddenly, still staring at Aeris. She knows she's going to die before this is over! She dared to love even though she couldn't have, to enjoy life before it had to end. Sorrow is quick to creep upon him, settling around his shoulders heavily. When had he dared? When had he enjoyed life?

This realization is very painful. He has lived so much longer than she, but she had learned a very important lesson which he hadn't even known existed. Yet . . . It was a painful realization, but it brought an odd feeling within him. It creeps along his flesh, leaving goosebumps, and a slight tickling sensation that almost makes him want to cough.

"Vincent?"

This inquisition startles him, and Vincent's eyes broke from Aeris' to skitter over to meet Red XIII's. It's then that he realizes that everyone was also staring at him, near panicked, hands near their weapons.

"Is everything okay?" Tifa asked cautiously.

Grim amusement trickles along the edges of his cloak, almost daring to peak over in a sardonic smirk. Even though on the inside he is warmed with absurd happiness -- why is he happy for something he had not achieved? -- his demeanor has yet to change from silent and brooding.

"That would depend on your definition of 'okay', Tifa. In that we are in no danger -- then yes, everything is okay. However, in other meanings . . . That seems to remain a secret." he answers. He makes some small gesture with his human hand -- to show that he wasn't reaching for his gun -- and turns to the stairs. The strength of the doomed is truly amazing . . . as he walks, he hears the others begin to speak. More grim amusement fell to visit him -- odd, trickling along his skin like rain. Did they think he was deaf, or that he didn't care if they talked of him as if he was?

"Well, that was certainly strange!"

"I'll say! I though there was bad guys around when he stood so fast!"

". . . Why did he look at you, Aeris?"

"I don't know, Cloud. Why don't you check on him?"

"W-what?"

"Ya did get 'im outta that damned coffin."

"H-hey!"

Vincent pauses briefly, his hand on the door to the room in which he is staying. Yes, Cloud had awakened him, though it wasn't a requirement for his return to the surface. He simply allowed himself to be bound because he didn't wish to face life . . . and yet . . . when that lid came off . . .

"Lu . . . cre . . . cia . . ."

Where was he? . . . Does it matter? . . . Where's Lucrecia? . . . the blood . . . his hands . . . why, Lucrecia? . . . Sephiroth . . .

Its so dark, even with his eyes open, he doesn't see a thing . . .

"Traitor?" a voice asks, echoing an accusation

Voices . . . who? . . . nobody ever comes here . . .

The air is so thick . . . its hard to breathe . . . why breathe? . . . Silence . . . wonderful silen-- . . .

Temp-temp-temp-temp!

Foot . . . steps? . . . who is here? . . . why now? . . . Lucrecia . . .

"To wake me from the nightmare . . ."

Shlump!

LIGHT! BLINDING! PAIN!

His eyes snap open, watering from the light. He sat up quickly, ignoring the pain of long unused muscles. Who?

Eyes glow . . . go away . . .he wants nothing to do with SOLDIER . . .

"... this mansion is the beginning of your nightmares ..."

he speaks . . . he answers . . . Blurs . . . reality or dream? . . . he wants to sleep with his nightmares . . . his punishment . . .

Sephiroth?

Leap up out of the coffin. Anger . . . confusion . . . guilt . . . more stains . . . the voices? . . . doesn't matter . . . more nightmares . . . to dream . . . let him sleep . . .

He retreats back into darkness . . . don't bother him . . . have to sleep . . . dwell . . . so much blood . . . on his name . . . all his fault . . . let him hide . . . he doesn't want life . . .

Again . . . light floods . . . his lid is removed . . . What? What now? Let him sleep . . .

His name?

"Vincent . . ."

Have to sleep now . . . is it done? . . . he don't care about their names . . .

They don't know her . . . they are of no use . . .

Darkness . . . Sephiroth . . . Shin-ra . . . Hojo . . . don't care . . . punishment . . . nightmares . . . darkness . . . and yet . . .

Bright . . . glowing . . . Blue . . .

Live . . . hide? . . . _GO_ . . .

. . . hide? . . . . . .

He shoves his lid aside . . . too late? . . . Force his limbs to move . . . FASTER! . . . Catch up. Why? Hojo? Revenge?

They might find him . . . the blue eyes don't lie . . . might . . . such a risk . . . just a chance . . . for what he wants . . .

A Chance. Risk? Afraid . . . _GO_!

Risk? Afraid . . . !

Vincent goes.

He turns the doorknob and steps inside the room. He doesn't bother to close the door because he knows Cloud with enter shortly. Is that a good thing of a bad thing? He's not sure, but he has decided that it was a thing . . . Oh, look. he's made a funny. Har-de-har-har . . . bitter, very bitter . . .

What will Cloud ask? And how shall he answer? What will he say? And himself? He can not tell Cloud that he was startled by the fact that he was more of a coward than a very young girl who know she was going to die.

"Vincent?"

His human fingers stop their twitching, and he turns his head to regard Cloud with weary eyes.

"Yes."

There are far too many questions ringing in his head, coming far too quickly for him to answer, or even to catch and hear.

Bright blue eyes that glow with the mako their owner is infused with, sunflash hair that takes one look that the laws of physics and cackles manically, pale skin riddled with paler scars. A young face, but what an old look in those eyes . . .

"What was that about back there?"

Vincent struggles to answer quickly enough while trying to consider his answer carefully. " . . . I apologize for any alarm that my actions caused; had I remained sitting any longer, I would have fallen asleep."

Blue eyes widen considerably, incredulously, a comical look. Vincent, himself, is surprised by that small display of dry humor . . . yet somehow he is pleased with himself also. Sadly, his emotions fail to show themselves, preferring to hide in their own little coffins.

"You just made a joke!" Cloud stammers in disbelief.

"What led you to that conclusion?"

"Your eyes! They did that little . . ." he trails off, waving a hand in font of his own. "What do they call that? But it showed in your eyes!"

In a typical display of his altered nature, his face drains of blood instead of being flooded with it. It is slightly unnerving to learn that Cloud is that perceptive, but beyond that, for anyone to note such a fine detail; yet . . . he is also struggling to restrain a strangely awkward feeling of warmth that is threatening to overtake his embarrassment. This is extremely foreign to him, to say the least. He dislikes the fact that Cloud is able to invoke such confusing emotions from him, especially since he had gotten so use to the darker emotions or none at all. However, he couldn't bring himself to become annoyed with either or them.

"--cause you look rather pale." Cloud finishs. Surprise left a tingling along his spine. When had Cloud started talking again? Panic -- how should he answer? Enough erratic behaivor would lead to worry, or at least distrust; distrust would lead to analyzing past and present, and a torrent of questions. It would be better to offer at least some crippled excuse, or perhaps some response.

He almost settles for just staring at the blond rather blankly instead of trying to act like he was paying any attention to what was said, but instead he ends up lifting one shoulder in an indifferent manner. Cloud just stares back, looking into his eyes, searching for something -- maybe an answer -- but Vincent refuses to offer anything. Time passes, blurs, and he doesn't know how long this goes on. Seconds? Minutes? Hours -- days -- weeks? Eternity? He doesn't know, and he doesn't care . . . what are moments next to decades and an eternity in a coffin?

Abruptly, Cloud turns away, heading for the door. "I'm going out for supplies," he says. "I'll be back later. Be careful."

"I'm not the one going anywhere." Vincent retorts, though he's not sure where the annoyance came from. He catches just the barest shimmer of blue, and Cloud is gone, the door closing behind him. He sits on the bed, and feel as though he's back in that sufficating coffin, hiding from life -- Trapped.

**.::.TBC.::.**

**SPOOF!**

Vincent struggles to answer quickly enough while trying to consider his answer carefully. " . . . I apologize for any alarm that my actions caused; had I remained sitting any longer, I would have fallen asleep."

Cloud: Huh?

Vincent: Seriously. I'm narcoleptic. What do you think I was doing in a coffin for thirty years?

**SPOOF! ROUND TWO!**

Abruptly, Cloud turns away, heading for the door. "I'm going out for supplies," he says. "I'll be back later. Be careful."

"I'm not the one going anywhere." Vincent retorts, though he's not sure where the annoyance came from. He catches just the barest shimmer of blue, and Cloud is gone, the door closing behind him. He sits on the bed, and suddenly it gives out underneath him. Then the floor caves, and he finds himself at the bottom of the stairs, siting in the middle of chaos.

Cloud: (blinking at him from the top of the stairs) ... I told you so.

For any wondering, the fanfic will stay with Vincent. He's the only pov you all are going to get. Mostly because that would lull the reader into a sense of knowing what will happened. This way, you don't know what Cloud or the others think, and how they see it.

Responses to reviews can be found on my profile, and will remaind for three days after the review was left.

Please leave a snide remark at the end of the ranting!


	3. New weapons, dreams, and Jokes

The Genesis of The Beginning part 3 of 7

PG for :: idiot!Vincent, dreaming, Cloud!pondering via Vincent, mild cursing via Cid, and mild Cid!Bashing

**Notes: **I don't really like Cid, but I tried to make it not as noticable as it could be. I might have started slipping up on my tenses again, so please dodge any accidental slips. I _swear_, no matter how much it seems like a VinTi right now, it isn't. I don't like that couple. I believe that Tifa should be in a corner, asexual and posing. However, she does end up being a major part of this story (sadly).

Also, I apologise for the long chapter. (Argh, so much reading and dreaming ... For cryin' out loud, Vincent!)

**.::. You see, this is where I start ranting nonsensical stuff. .::.**

He thinks he's just as confused by Cloud as he is with himself. Is he a coward or no? At most times, Vincent can not tell. At times, Cloud is cowardly, just like Vincent, or perhaps just tired of this life. At other times, Cloud is immeasurably brave, and every single thing in between. He doesn't think that Cloud knows who he is or that his personality, either uncaring or offensive, draws people. Everyone who spends enough time with him seem to get caught, drawn in like moths by his bright luminescent eyes. Vincent idly wonders what color they were originally. He knows the change couldn't have been much, but surely there was one. Dark or light? Dull or bright? Did they gleam with life or was he just a very solemn person?

There is something lacking in his eyes. He can see that Cloud is in want of something. Revenge? Hope? Peace?

Love?

Hopeful, useless thinking.

He paused to reconcider. Maybe not; hopeless for him, but not useless, and a probability.

He hears a commotion down stairs, so he go to investigate. What was it that Cloud wanted? A person? A place? A thing? He said Nibelheim burned down. His family? A home?

Errant thoughts fill his mind, though he doesn't try to stop them, generally bored. This is why he is distant. He thinks too much . . . distant Vincent . . . such a depressing if true thought . . .

Why did his coffin stay untouched? They could have broken in . . . He could have burned alive . . . but the library was also in shambles, and -- according to Cloud -- exactly how Sephirtoh had left it. But they had to know it was there if they rebuilt the house. Or did they? Did Sephiroth keep it safe because of the library?

He awakens from his thoughts as he reachs the common room. There is a pile of weapons and armor on a table, and Cloud is gleefully handing it out. He always get a real happy, excited look when he buys something. Is it because he can get rid of the money? Or is it because he gets to hunt down more monsters for more gil? Maybe he likes the idea of destruction but not the reality?

Cloud is a whirlwind of excitement when he stops in front of Vincent. Before he knew it, he had new bits of armor on. Cloud steps back to admire his handiwork.

"Not bad." he mutters, eyeing the materia filled bracers and protective armor. Again, Vincent's face pales. He wishes Cloud wouldn't do that; it make him all jittery when the blond looks at him, and even more so when he puts his armor on for him -- jittery like danger and warning, jittery like almost being caught. "And down for the finishing touch!" Cloud exclaims happily and shoves a sleek gun in Vincent's hand, snatching his old one from the holster on his belt.

Vincent's round, incredulous eyes rise to mean Cloud's excited blues. "This is a far lager firearm than I'm used to." he states as calmly as he could. The new gun looked something like a sawed off double barreled shot gun as opposed to his small hand gun.

"But it packs one hell of a punch!" Cloud says, and Vincent could swear he is bubbling. "It does nearly TWICE the damage of your old gun!"

"H-however," he stammers. "I haven't a holster for it!"

"Actually, I bought one for it!" Cloud exclaims excitedly. A disturbingly quick motion, and he's replaced his old holster with the new.

"Must not forget this!" Cloud chirps, and promptly pops three materia into his new gun. "There! That ought to do it!"

". . ." Strained, tense, afraid . . . he couldn't take it anymore -- he flees.

He has been standing here, starting at the scenery from his room's window for nearly three hours, trying to regain his balance of no emotions and no thoughts; a balance which made him nothing but a machine. A part of him wants to leave the group, apologize for all the trouble, and run 'home' to his coffin to hide from life again. Yet, there is another part of him that urges him to stay, to let Cloud throw him off balance, to let him be there, to grow, to change . . .

"Finally found you."

He glances over his shoulder, through dark hair, at Tifa. What did she want? To scold him for being 'mean' to Cloud and running off when the blond was just being nice and equipping him? He continues to watch her though his hair -- a form of hiding -- as she sits on his bed.

"I did not go anywhere that I could not be found." He answers softly. She looks at him, into his eyes, from her perch.

"Yes you did," she corrects. "But that's okay, Cloud was just slightly bewildered with you left, but you know how nothing can get to him or get him down when he's bought weapons."

"Yes."

". . . so what was that look at Aeris about?"

He pauses, feeling his walls sliding into place. "Nothing." He lies. "My own thoughts were the reasons for his actions; she merely happened to be in my line if sight."

So easily to lie, even if it was just a small one . . . just hiding more . . . He hates hiding . . . but he is not about to step into the open for her. She stays silent as he stares out the window. It is getting dark, and strikes him as strange that they hadn't moved on yet. They would probably leave tomorrow.

"Its late." he says. "Get some rest." He turns abruptly, just in time to see Tifa's cinnamon eyes widen, and she jumps up as though in danger.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to intrude!" she exclaims, ducking her head. Inwardly, he sighed. People always seem to assume they have offended him when he states the obvious.

"You haven't, Tifa." He answers, gliding to the door. "People don't offend easily -- except Cid -- and if you had, I would have been far colder."

She stops in the doorway, searching his eyes. He quickly snatchs a mask of emotionlessness up and slams it over his eyes, refusing to let her see his walls or cowardice.

"Then I'm sorry for assuming so." She answers softly. "Goodnight."

He nearly jumps back in surprise when she pulls him down and kisses his cheek, a sisterly act. She turns, hurrying down the hall to her room. He quickly shuts the door and sits on his bed. He had never had a family . . . is that what the group is becoming? A family?

Apprehension is quick to unsettle his stomache. This was a slightly disturbing thought, and it follows him to his sleep.

.:.:.Dream . . ..:.:.

Burning. It was all burning. People screaming, the heat, the light. A familiar face looking into the distance, terrified, angry, confused.

"My pain . . ."

This thought echoes. He turn. Death. Destruction. Niblehiem.

The scene twists, turns, blurs together. A forest, cool, green, serene. Running. Why? Something he can't catch. He stops.

Blurs again. The sky, the sun, fluffy, white, wispy, drifting slowly, peace. In the field below, walk. What's this? A sword. Familiar . . . Drop it, walk on. An egg. Pick it up, cradle it in the palm of human hands . . . two of them. Blurs again, hold this person close . . . safe. Okay, all okay, Safe. Blurs again, Alone, but not. Light, green light . . . Takes the feeling away, tears into the source.

Fear, alone, desolation, scared, confused, Gone...

Anger.

Rage.

Red as blood, hot as magma.

Destruction. The light can not have it. It took it, hurt it. Death.

MIN--

He sits up quickly, breathing hard. It is an odd thing to experience; he didn't usually wake up breathing this hard, being this panicked. He quite literally rolls out of bed, and grunts as he hits the floor with a hollow thud. He tries to remember the dream. All he can remember, though, is that someone took . . . abused . . . something . . . someone? . . . that he cares about. So much anger was quick to rise within him again.

Beginning of destruction?

_Mine._

The thought purrs in his ears. Yes, he is confused. He idly uses the mostly bone-and-something-else claw to drag himself off the floor. He's dressed enough to be decent, the shotgun near his pillow. He ignores it, gliding noiselessly to the door. Loose dark pants whisper around his legs, his loose hair tickling his shoulders and back. He carefully opens the door and steps out into the darkened hall. As he closes his door behind him, another door opens. Tifa peers out; that's right, he remembers, she has the room next to his own and must have heard his tumble to the floor. She looks at him more for a moment, mouths 'good night,' and disappears back inside.

He listens carefully, hard, to hear the other's breathing.

Barret and Cid are snoring loudly, and beneath that he can heard Aeris' light breathing and Tifa moving about the bed, trying to get comfortable. Red XIII and the toy Cait Sith are in another room, and he assume Red is asleep and Cait's operator is gone because he hear nothing. And then . . .

_You were having a nightmare._

The memory echoes. He doesn't remember much about his first run in with this group, but there are feelings and snatches of conversations that he does. Cloud's reason for awaking him was one of them. And under all the noises in the inn, he can hear tossing and turning, slight sniffling, and erratic breathing, coming from the room diagonally from his own.

Cloud's room.

He moves closer to the door, listening. A nightmare or memories? He turns away --

_You were having a nightmare._

Yet something forces him to stop. Guilt settled in the pit of his stomach like a weight, making him uneasy. Yet he could not just step inside. Too many questions would be asked. Also an invasion of privacy, and again Cloud might wish to live with it. Vincent leans back gently, carefully resting his weight against the door behind him. What is your sorrow, Cloud Strife? What gives you nightmares?

And without realization, he drifts . . . and

.:.:.Dreams . . .:.:.

Its dark, and he's back in the basement of the Shin-Ra mansion. His coffin's lid is sealed tightly, and he sits down on top of it. He feels like he's not alone, and its a steadily growing feeling. Movement occurs, and suddenly, he's sitting shoulder to shoulder with someone, facing different directions.

"I trust too easily." the other states suddenly.

He turn his head and find himself staring at the side of Cloud's face. "Trust is something you give, like a gift. It is to be charished, and it is not your fault if some can not understand that."

Cloud looks at him, blue eyes glowing, and fades away. Once again, the basement is empty, and Vincent is afraid of life. The lid of his coffin become intangible and he crashs inside. He tries to push his way back up, but he can't, and he's left pounding on the lid, clawing at this prison futilely.

He jerks back into awareness, and realize that he'd falling asleep outside Cloud's room. He's just beginning to hear stirring in the rooms, so he quickly stands and retreats back into his own. He's never had such a dream turn into a nightmare before . . . for once he wasn't being blamed for anything . . . just senseless fear. He's also surprised that his mind's rendition of Cloud was so flat, when everything else is usually so vivid. He supposes that is because he hadn't figured Cloud out yet, so his subconscious was unsure about how to present him. He heads over to the drawers and begins to dress and pack. Once finished, he debates with himself on wether he really wanted to go down stairs and deal with the group or stay up here where it was . . .

Safe?

No, that would only encourage the cowardice he was trying to fight. He turns and starts for the door. But did he really want to do this? After all, the unknown is rather worrisome. No, he needs to do this. Once his mind is made up, he is ready to go, but is stopped short.

It seems that he has already made that decision; he found himself downstairs in the common room and before any of the others.

Cid was the first down after him. Vincent starts to head for the relative safety of a corner to avoid the pilot, but Cid slings an arm around Vincent's narrow shoulders before he got too far.

"Heya, Vince, you cold-ass bastard!" He shouts into his ear, and Vincent winces. "Whaddya say to a drink?!"

"No." he says as icily as possible, leaving off the almost instinctive 'thank you' part.

"Aww, Com'n!" he yells, and starts dragging the dismayed man off. At this pointed, Vincent idly notes that Cid happens to be on the same shoulder that ends in a mostly bone appendage. An idea cackled manically into life, and internally, Vincent nearly purrs. He swings the claw around Cid's shoulders and grips, the sharp points digging into flesh -- yet not hard enough to do damage and draw blood. Cid blinks at the odd yellow-gold tissue of the monster arm and swallows hard.

"Hmm, methinks it's still a tad early." he mutters and retreats hastily. Vincent pulls his odd far-too-strong arm against his chest, cradling it with his human arm. A grim smirk of amusement grows on his face, behind his cloak in safety.

Suddenly, a hand lands on his human shoulder, startling him.

"You gonna make a habit for making jokes?" Cloud asks, looking slightly up at him.

"Perhaps -- but is it a joke if no one is laughing?" he asks.

"Not out loud, at least." Cloud says, smirking a bit before he heads off toward Aeris.

Vincent decides he may continue to "make jokes". Most definitely if someone keeps noticing . . .

**.:.:.TBC.:.:.**

**Out takes:**

Breathing

He listens carefully, hard, to hear the other's breathing.

Vincent: Because, you know, breathing just really excites me.

Everyone: . . .

Joking

"You gonna make a habit for making jokes?" Cloud asks, looking slightly up at him.

"Perhaps -- but is it a joke if no one is laughing?" he asks.

Cloud: ....

Vincent: ... ... ?

Cloud: Hey, can I get a dictionary over here?! (waves arms at the rest of the group).

Everyone: (facefaults)

_I'm sorry for the large amount of time that they seem to spend dreaming. Its because of all the dreaming I named it "Dream Carefully" anyway (That and it's a fair warning). You probably noticed that first dream was a bit of Cloud flashback/going-to-happen going on. I don't know why I made Vincent see that, but it won't affect anything since Vincent never really pays his nightmares any mind. Also, **No**, they did not just share a dream._

_Responses to reviews can be found on my profile, and will remaind for three days after the review was left._

_Please leave a snide remark at the end of the ranting! _


	4. Is it fun peering over?

The Genesis of The Beginning part 4 of 7

PG-13 for :: mild!Blood/Gore, Death, Cliched!Angst, Vincent toying with his own emotions, and other stuff like that.

**Notes: **Ugh, here we go with more cliched stuff.

Mrph, I noticed errors, and so Four, Five, and Six have been reposted.

**.::. If you can't dazzle them with brilliance, riddle them with bullets. .::.**

Time is starting to blur together again. Moments mean nothing. They ran, fought, ran, angst, ran, rest, sleep on edge, ran, fought, despair . . . Today Vincent awakens invigorated, charged up and ready to go. The odd squirming feeling that _something _would happen refuses to leave him. The others have yet to awaken, so he perches himself on a nearby rock and listened to the world awaken with the sun. Speaking of which, the golden orb was just beginning to peak over the edge of the world, and he stands to turn. The sun was becoming increasingly annoying, not only to his eyes, but his skin, also. He turns, and sees Could standing below the rock, his luminescent eyes watching Vincent solemnly. Their eyes meet, and again it happens, like deja vu. Time blurs, though he wished it would stop -- confusing, like being back in the coffin. Logically, he tells himself that it could not be more that a few moments passing, but he still feels that its more like hours of time, an eternity . . . he is used to these symptoms; they appeared every time he chooses someone to care after . . . but he has never chosen someone like Cloud . . . or have he chosen at all?

"You woke early." Cloud says.

"Something might happen." he answers, and fails to explain as Cloud's eyes ask him to. He doesn't understand the feeling either. "Where are we going?"

"Just to a small village. To rest."

"How long?"

"A few days."

He breaks the eye-contact this time, his eyes shifting to Aeris' sleeping form. They seem to be Cloud's favored combination; Aeris for her healing powers, and himself . . . he's not sure why he gets chosen, but perhaps its for his skills with a gun . . . it makes up for the times he loses control of the Jenova cells inside him, he supposes. Cloud wakes Aeris softly, and Vincent keeps watch without having to be told; with any luck, they will fail to meet any monsters. Cloud and Aeris speak, and Vincent is left trying vainly not to listen. From what he does hear, Cloud is just telling her exactly what he told him.

They start out, and he brings up the rear. Time blurs once again, but that annoying feeling of anticipation just increased as time goes on.

Suddenly, there's a flash of light, a flash of pain, and darkness engulfs him.

Float, drift, wonder, wander . . . warmth . . . emerald eyes stare into his.

_Its not time yet._

Time?

The Blackness shatters, falling around his feet.

He can vaguely feel magic pulling at his body. His consciousness is returning, his physical head cradled in a lap. He open his eyes and sees Cloud leaning over him, a bright green materia in hand. From his position, he knows his head rests in Aeris' lap.

"What . . . ?"

"Some weird monster, a back attack, and a Deathblow at that." Cloud answers. "We managed to beat the hell out of it, so I used Revive on you."

That's right. Cloud always holds off using any reviving actions until the fight it over or both of his companions go down. He tries to sit up and almost collapses, but Cloud and Aeris catch him before he falls too far.

"Wait, be careful." Aries says. "You're still badly injured. You did die, you know. Hold on a second, and I'll do something for it." In moments, he's suddenly feeling much stronger, more alive. She probably used on of the higher level cures on him. Cloud grabs his hand, and between the two of them, they get Vincent standing; one alone couldn't do it because he's heavier than his frail-looking form claims -- its mostly due to his height, the rest his arm.

His face becomes white as a sheet -- though who could tell the difference? -- as he notes that Cloud's hand lingers. He's frozen, unsure of what to do, what to think, how to feel. Cloud is just looked up at him, a slight frown on his face. Vincent knows now that the man has seen the reaction, but what can he do but hope that Cloud passes it off as an effect of his death and resurrection? The air is cool on his palm as the blond withdraws his hand.

"Com'n, we're almost there." he says briskly, and turns. A bitter feeling fills Vincent, and with some dismay, he realized that he had yet to torture himself with the 'what if's and the usual facts. Even though Vincent knew that he chose these people to care for out of cowardice, he still fooled himself into hoping that he could some day . . . some how . . . impossibilities, but he had assured himself he couldn't have them; why not let himself fall?

He was just coming to term with the fact that this time he had chosen a man to lo- . . . to care for instead of one of the girls. They were just as inaccessible as Cloud, why not one of them? They were beautiful, and one was doomed to die. He had seen warmer, more beautiful men; why Cloud? Why now? Well, not that Cloud wasn't attractive, it was just that he was very much so different from what Vincent would have expect to chose if he chose a man at all. He had thought himself straight -- had acted straight, but no use in going there -- so if he chose a man, why not one that was girly? One he could pass off as a cross-dressed girl. No, Cloud really could not be passed off as a girl in his eyes (though he had heard some interesting tales from Tifa and Aeris that brought amusement and then a bit of nausea when he heard the 'kiss me' part). Cloud . . .

They began a long trek again, yet he continued with the torture even once he had reached the point of near heat-stroke. Cloud was undeniably masculine in his eyes, strong and reserved. His eyes told tales of woe, of hardships, of betrayal. All Vincent could feel was a deep rooted desire to see his eyes shine with some sort of happiness. If not that, then at least contentment. It just seemed wrong, some how, to see him so sad and slightly confused. He was still young, had many years ahead of him; he should be enjoying life, not on a journey to kill someone he once trusted.

Fool, he told himself. Cloud might be happy one day, but not for you, not because of you. Maybe Tifa can help, maybe the death of Sephiroth will help, but never you. You are too depressed, reserved -- _Cowardly_ -- to be of any help to him. The only thing you can do is keep him alive until someone . . . something can help him. Bitterness was quick to devour him. Bitter about life, about this helplessness, even about his own cowardice and sorrow. Yes, angst-angst, Vincent Valentine. Good job. Mope-Mope, Vincent; That's _sure_ to help!

Even better, he snarled internally. Now he's gotten sarcastic with himself. He looks up at the back of Cloud's head, wild hair flashing in the light. "Good job," He mutter. "Real good job."

In this moment of external attention, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Something large, something deadly, was stalking them. Without a word, he spins, shotgun in hand. Blood rushes through him, his face flushing as he saw the massive beast. He aimed the double barrels higher than they were.

"Run." He says futilely, knowing what they couldn't hear him. He pulls the trigger, and a deafening blast thunders in his ears. "RUN!"

The dragon thundered in fury and pain. It opens its mouth, the beginnings of flames flickering there. He quickly cocks his gun, aims, and fires into its mouth. As it rears back in pain, Vincent spins. Good, they were running, though Aeris is lagging behind. He turned back to the Dragon, fear rushing though his veins like fire, like ice, like everything and nothing was going to happen. It lashes its tail, sending him flying. Agony flashes through him as the sound of breaking bones echoes in his ears. He coughs, not really concerned with the blood that he suddenly tastes in his mouth. He climbs to his feet, and looks after the dragon, eyes tracing its path. It was racing after Cloud and Aeris, gaining so much ground in so little time.

Visions of the two ripped, torn, devoured flashed in his mind's eye. Fury, hotter than he'd ever experience before flooded him, and something within him broke -- his stomach twisting with sickening urgency. He only had time to feel a flash of brutal and feral ferocity before the beast's mind took over

When he finally gains awareness, he is standing in the middle of nowhere, the dead dragon minus a wing, the last half of its tail, and most of its head, sprawled in front of him. He turns slowly to face the others, eyes going to Cloud.

Both he and Aeris were tattered, looking exhausted and the worst for wear. Vincent felt energized, but that would be because when Jenova reformed him, the beast healed itself.

"I apologize," He says softly, ducking his head. "I should have more control."

Cloud's glowing blue eyes stares at him emotionlessly for a moment. "Its okay. You've already explained your lack on control."

"Besides!" Aeris chirps. "Even though you kept healing it with the beast's fire attacks, it was your berserk dash-and-attack that finished it."

Sardonic amusement is quick to worm its way into his soul. "Please, forgive me." He repeats, bowing. "The beast likes to . . . play."

Cloud and Aeris do not seem as bitterly amused as he was. That is not helping his feelings that he had screwed up royally and sickened feelings that lingers with the taste of blood.

Once they reached the town and got rooms, he retreats to his and sleeps like the dead.

**.:.:.TBC.:.:.**

**Out takes:**

"You woke early." Cloud says.

"Something might happen." he answers, and fails to explain as Cloud's eyes ask him to.

Barret: (runs by in his underwear) I am tha King o' Da **_MATERIA_**!

Everyone: ...

Deafening

"Run." He says futilely, knowing what they couldn't hear him. He pulls the trigger, and a deafening blast thunders in his ears. "RUN!"

Aeris: Did you hear something?

Cloud: Huh? (holds up hand to his ears)

Vincent: ... ... dammit.

Sleeping like the Dead

Once they reached the town and got rooms, he retreats to his and sleeps like the dead.

Vincent: No, really, I did. See? (points to coffin) I made Cid carry it.

Cloud: ... ...

Cid: What? He said he'd take my cigarettes if I didn't.

Everyone: ...

_**RANDOM NOTE OF DOOM**_

_Vincent likes to play with his emotions -- he's an emotional junkie. Gets high off the chemicals his body releases when he rides the emotional roller coaster. It just so happens that the man finds it easier to create the darker emotions than the happier emotions. Keep this in mind when reading this, because it makes the Cliched!Angst-of-doom easier to swallow._

_I'll let you know when/if I rewrite this chapter!_


	5. Cloud Is Drunk, and Vincent realizes som...

The Genesis of The Beginning part 5 of 7

PG-13 for :: Insane!Vincent, Drunk!Cloud (Why? Who knows.)

**Notes: **And now, Vincent begins the decent into Insanity. w00t! I am veddy sorry, but I got a Wacom Tablet for Christmas, and I hate to break it to you guys, but I'm an artist, not a writer (Actually, I'm both, I just emote better with art). However, I'll try to make up for lsot time. Sorry to everyone I lied to and said that my chapter would be out sooner. TT.TT

**.:.:. It's all fun and games until some divine creature strikes you down with a bolt of lightning. .:.:.**

He awakens this morning with a vague feeling of peace. His feelings yesterday of guilt and bitterness had faded with strange dreams, though He's not sure why. He didn't really feel like climbing up out of his warm bed, for he is content and warm and did not feel alone . . .

BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-CRASH!

He jolts out of bed on the first hint of someone out there, but the loud noise has startled him enough that all he accomplishes in doing is falling out of bed tangled in the sheets; he really needs to get back into Turk-trained condition unless he plans to die soon. He felt naked even though he's wearing pants, the possibility of danger making his skin prickle. He hears the door shut -- almost a slam-- and a few stumbling steps. He peeks over the bed to see -

"Cloud?"

Cloud's bright blue eyes are glowing much more than usual, illuminating his face in a soft blue light. They search Vincent out, and only find him when he stands. Cloud stumbles closer and it is then that Vincent finally smells the alcohol heavy on the blond. He flops onto the bed, but stays on the right side. Vincent pauses on this, bemused, but then untangles the sheets from himself, and threw it on the foot of the bed.

"Sorry 'bout the door." Cloud slurs. "An' wakin' you up."

"I was awake." he replies and sits on the edge of the bed, studying the window."Why have you been drinking?"

_What is your sorrow, Cloud Strife? _

He discards the memory.

"Don' 'member." Cloud mutters, flinging an arm across his eyes. "Can I sleep here?"

As tempting as it is ... "Don't you have a room?" Vincent asks as he turns to look at the intoxicated man on his bed.

Cloud's nose wrinkles as he rolls over to stare up at him. "Don' like it. Feels empty . . . Can I stay?"

"Of course." Vincent answers with a sigh and resigns himself to sitting on the edge of the bed all night staring at the window. Cloud grins strangely at him, and Vincent lets his eyes linger for as long as he feel is safe, but turns quickly when an answering smile begins to tug at his lips.

"Don'."

He blinks and turns back to the source of the request. Cloud's nearly blinding eyes were fixed on him, but his eyes were much more attracted to the movement below his chin. One finger on his right hand is idly alternating between tapping the bed and conducting an erratic song to an invisible and mute orchestra.

"Don't what?" he asks, finally responding.

"Don't hide."

He could only blink. Could Cloud see things so easily? He thought drunks were supposed to be even more oblivious than normal. "Why do you think He's hiding?" he asks, trying to throw him off track.

"Your eyes, as always . . ." he mutters, but Vincent thinks he's starting to drift.

"Windows to the soul." he said softly, recalling the saying. "Then where are my drapes?"

"That's what I see . . ." he answers, and the room falls silent.

"And if . . ." Vincent starts, thinking out loud since the only other occupant is drunk and sleeping besides. "And if I hide from you . . . peering pass those drapes . . . does that mean you can see in?"

Such inane, senseless questions, but questions that plague him into darkness. "Do I trust you to see me peering out ...?"

Vaguely aware of someone tugging insistently at his arm.

"Wha...?"

"Can I trust you?"

"Depends ..."

"On what?"

He sighs, shifting, wanting to go back to sleep. "What the trust is about."

"How about the journey?"

"Yes."

"My life?"

"Yes."

"Thank you."

"Go to sleep." He answers, and drifts.

Vincent awakes as soon as the sun hits his face, growling lowly and turning from the windows. It is then that he notices that he's chilled. He gropes blindly for the sheets, but fails to find them. At last, he become frustrated enough to search them out by sight, so he sits up and glares around the room.

"What?" he demands in surprise, noting them halfway to the door and appearing to be alive judging by the steady rise and fall. He pauses to think before he does anything rash such as actually fire the gun that has appeared in his hand. Ah, that must be Cloud, judging from the spike of chocobo-yellow hair that suddenly appeared as the pile of cloth moves. He sure didn't make it far before giving up. Vincent knows Cloud will have a hangover, so he stands and draws the curtains on the windows closed.

He eyes the pile of Cloud and covers at his feet for a while before deciding that Cloud will appreciate being on a bed instead of the floor. He scoops both up and carry them to the bed. Cloud's just a little heavier than he seems, because even if he seems frail and thin, he developed quiet a bit of muscle carrying that buster blade around. After a few moment of scrounging around and arranging, he has Cloud cleanly and smoothly covered, a bucket for him to throw up in should he need to do so and a damp washcloth on his forehead, a dish of water and a pitcher of drinking water on the nightstand.

He exits the room in search of food and a shower. Once bathed and fed, he hunts down an apple and heads back to his room. As he opens the door, the sound of the infamous technicolor yawn greets him, and he grimaces. He makes his way over to Cloud; the blond looks absolutely wretched, paler than usual and half-dead. He sets a chair down near the bed and sits down, his movement as quiet as possible to avoid making much noise. Cloud looks at him with pained and dull eyes.

"Good morning." Vincent says, lucky that his voice has always been soft and smooth, thus causing Cloud's pounding head no pain. He picks up the deserted cloth from the pillow near Cloud's ear, using it to clean the blond's face. He discards it himself and pull a new one out of the drawer.

"Sorry." Cloud whispers. Vincent shakes his head slightly.

"You are fine." he say. "Just suffering from a misjudgment in liquid measurements."

"How'd you get in my room?"

One eyebrow arches. Cloud doesn't remember? Typical. "Questions later. Rest." Vincent demands, crossing his arms; this action is always so uncomfortable now since one of his arms wasn't the right size or shape for such actions. Cloud smirks at him, eyes half-closed, and passes out. Vincent glares at him a moment further before sighing and folding in on himself, the dry washcloth dangling from his fingertips. Cloud still looks as though he might still be a little feverish, and so he dips the washcloth in the water and fold it neatly before laying back across Cloud's forehead. He sets the apple on the nightstand and sits back.

Even in his drunken sleep, Cloud looked strong, capable, controlled. his face is full of angular planes; the line of his jaw and chin, the strong unbroken line of his nose, and the faint lines of his cheekbones somehow lent him a surrealistic appearance that is just encouraged by his glowing eyes that failed to be open at this moment. According to Tifa, Cloud's hair didn't used to be quiet as spikey, though she did confirm that Cloud's hair had never exactly been normal either. Genetics emphasized by the makou was the settled upon explanation.

Vincent shifts slightly, slumping further down into his chair. His mind kept circling back to the fact that he had failed to chose a girl, and the man he chose is no feminine man. By some accounts, he would be considered more masculine than Vincent. This though invokes an annoyed if soft growl; he was never mistaken as a girl before and he doesn't plan on becoming effeminate now, either. Yet the fact remained that Cloud Strife is the one he has chosen to lo-

Cowardice sets in again. He can't even bring himself to say it. His claw clenches in his lap, scrapping against itself. He is lucky he has no flesh there or it would have been shredded. It hurt him that he is a coward. He is trying to stop, but it is very hard, a tough fight. As a matter of fact, right now he wants to flee, but he can not; that would only encourage the cowardice, right?

He uses one slightly elongated canine to bite through his own tongue and hisses softly as blood floods his mouth. Self destruction . . . he should stop this also. He pauses for a second, thinking as he sucks the blood from the wound. Maybe cowardice is not the main problem. A growing feeling of alarm spreads through him as this thought grows. Maybe cowardice is only a small bit of the problem . . . a manifestation of a bigger, more important problem.

Cowardice is self-defeating . . . self-destruction.

He tries to stop cowardice, and he rends and tears his own flesh.

His problem isn't cowardice . . . It is self-destruction!

Cowardice is self-destruction, mutilation is self-destruction. This choosing of people to love that he couldn't have is self-destruction. His face flushes red with realization, fear and anger swirling through me. He has to stop this, has to stop practicing these things . . . has to stop lo- . . . caring for Cloud. Has to- has to - . . . so much work involved in stopping this vicious circle. Besides, something worked at him. He wants to stop this self-destruction, but for some reason, he resists accepting that he had to stop his feelings for Cloud. He looks down at hungover blond in his bed, feeling his emotions rebel (He dares not say 'heart'). Yet confusion fills him; is this a true feeling, or merely himself begging for more punishment -- more pain -- more destruction of self -- more masochistic matyring -- more, more, moremoremore?

Cloud frowns slightly and turns in his sleep, and without thought, Vincent's hand reaches out for his face to reassure him. Half-way there, he stutters the movement, his face paling dramatically, and reaches instead for the washcloth. He dips it into the bowl and wrings out the extra water. He turns back to Cloud and lays it on his neck.

He somehow manage to feel emotionally detached even though his action seem caring. He stands and walks to the window, cracking the curtains open slightly to peer outside. The sun has yet to rise too high in the sky, and most of the town is still asleep. He hear stirring on the bed and turn to see Cloud sitting up. His eyes are back to normal, though he still seems a little sore. Vincent knew almost instinctively that in a few moments, Cloud would be as if he'd never gotten drunk -- the SOLDIER training would be sure to fix any handicaps.

"There is a shower down the hall." Vincent says. Cloud jumps slightly and winces.

"Vincent?"

"Yes."

Cloud looks around. "Wait . . . This isn't my room . . . What am I doing in your room?"

He's completely bewildered; Vincent decides that the look doesn't quite fit on Cloud's face because it makes him look far too young . . . maybe fifteen. He dislikes Cloud looking young because Vincent knows it isn't true. It is a temporary lie that he could recognize so easily. He remembered too easily the old look in those eyes, the tired dullness.

"You were drunk."

"..." Cloud is silent, and Vincent is quick to see the red rising in his face.

"You didn't make a fool of yourself." He says in answer to an unasked question. Cloud looks confused for a moment, but then turns to climb gingerly out of the bed.

"What do you want to do today?" he asks as he meanders from the room. Vincent took this as a sign to follow.

"Do?" He asks, hoping for further explanation.

Cloud glances over his shoulder at the man as he enters his room. "Yeah. There isn't anything to do for the group, and we must rest up, right?"

"Of course.".

"Then what shall we do?"

Vincent blinks. His eyes idly follow Cloud around the room, but he ponders this question. "What is there to do in this village?"

"Not much." Cloud mutters as he finds the searched for towel. He throws it over his shoulder along with the change of clothing he had picked. "Why don't you think about it while I shower?"

Vincent doesn't answer, just watching as Cloud walked out the door. The truth is, he does not want to stop caring for Cloud. He knows he has no lacking of people who cared about Cloud, but there is something about the situation that told him that the blond is holding back from them . . . though why? He blinks as he realizes that he's somehow disappeared into the shadows of the common room. The sharp clean smell of soap strikes Vincent before he sees Cloud descending the stairs. He is clean, hair damp, clean clothes a bright blue. He blinks those mako-scorched eyes, looking around the room, but before he finds Vincent, Aeris runs forward, grabbing his arm.

"Cloud! Lets go walking!" she bubbles, and he only scratches his head as she drags him off, making no effort to escape.

A sharp pain lances Vincent, bitterness welling in his throat, a bad taste in his mouth. Resentment swells and he feels short of murderous.

He savors these sensations.

**.:.:.TBC.:.:.**

**Out takes:**

Drapes

"Windows to the soul." he says softly, recalling the saying. "Then where are my drapes?"

Justi: ... n.n I burned my drapes . . . Oooooh! Pretty fire!

Trust

Vincent sighs, shifting, wanting to go back to sleep. "What the trust is about."

"How about the journey?"

"Yes."

"My life?"

"Fuck no, asshole." Vincent says, sits up, and shoots him in the head. "That's what you get when you don't let me sleep."

Justi: ... (sigh)

Wake up

He awake as soon as the sun hits my face, growling lowly and turning from the windows. It is then that He notice that He's chilled. He grope blindly for the sheets, and find a warm body instead. He sit up and blink.

"Wow, you sure now how to wake up a guy." Cloud said, blinking at my hand.

" ... we're not going there ... "

"Darn!"

Justi: ... ... ... ... I'm a pervert!

Sheets

He pause to think before He do anything rash such as actually fire the gun that had appeared in my hands.

... Wait, no, screw it! If He pause, They might get me! NOOO! (shoots at sheets)

Cloud: X.x (tumbles out of the sheets, remarkably unharmed)

Vincent: ... (blink) .... (blink) ... Baka. (shoots Cloud)

Emme: -.- ... you are in lurv with him, you dork.

Vincent: ... (blink) ... ... ... NOOOO! WHAT HAVE I DONE?! (mope-mope angst-angst)

Justi: Aw ... dat so sad ... (uses psychedelic author powers to bring Cloud back)

Vincent: ...

Cloud: O.O

Vincent: ... .... ... ... (shoots Cloud) NOOOOO! WHY DID YOU DIE?! (angst-angst

Justi: ... baka ...

_Meep! (yes, Justi is I!) Well, these out-takes were actually written a while ago, which may explain why they may/may-not sound different than the others._

_Ugh. I never knew how hard it would be to write in present tense (dies). For any wondering why Cloud seemed to be asking Vincent out on a date -- he wasn't. I don't know why it came out that way. As I said before, now Vincent really kinda loses his grip on reality. He has a shaky hold at best at this moment, but ... well --- I can't wait to post the next chapter, if that gives you an idea! Also, no I do not hate Aeris. I just used her to move the plot along because I can._

_Thank you to everyone who reviewed and told me to lighten up. I really needed that, and needed to get a grip on myself (cuz we all hate it when authors start bitching about their stuff). Thank you!_

_**I thought I might offer some useful links.** I use these to help with my proof-reading (though this is **NOT **a substitute for proof-reading!!!) because editing and proofreading are so draining for me. One or the other is great, but when you use them in tandem, it works terrifically._

_spellcheck;net_

_m-w;com_

_Both addresses run with the www attachment, so don't forget that, and they also have a dot instead of a semi-colon. ALSO! when using spellcheck, you can only successfully apply changes to things less than 1000 words. Otherwise, it says its finished and swallows your text._

_**Please leave a rant after the snide remark!**_

_And may I say you're looking lovely today!_


	6. Vincent really loses it

The Genesis of The Beginning part 6 of 7

PG-13 for :: Insane!Vincent; more future events dreaming-like-stuff, and Melodrama

**Notes**: And now Vincent spirals into melodrama ... and knows it. Yeah, at this point, tense is really screwed over -- mostly because Vincent's gone looney and he's covering background while babbling incoherently -- or something. Oo

**.:.:..It's not an optical illusion, it just looks that way .:.:.**

So many things have happened, the whole time a blue of confusion, pain, and rage. Aeris' death was no surprise to Vincent; knowledge that Cloud was supposed to be as Sephiroth seethes; he aches because of Cloud's confusion. The pain and rage seethed the most when they found Cloud again, and he was bound to a wheelchair, head flopping uselessly. Vincent was sickened.

He tries to escape this self-destruction, but it forces him on as he does more. He does more to try to escape this destruction, his fury and agony of Cloud's situation . . . the circle is spiraling out of control. But that time in Mideel . . . they assumed that Tifa was the only one who cared that much -- his mask is too good? -- But . . . She is the one who brought him back. Cured him of confusion. He could not do that. He only destroyed everything: those he cared about and myself. This needless angst does not help.

Finding his reason to fight Sephiroth was easy. For Cloud, to keep him alive, so he could be okay. So that he could have a family. And then Vincent could . . .

He could what?

What would _he_ do?

Hide in his coffin again?

Useless.

Don't think that far ahead, he warns himself. Keep Cloud alive. Focus on that.

So Vincent came back -- returned to the ship. He saw them, the two of them, Tifa and Cloud.

He seethed and smoldered in his own agony and pain and . . .

Destruction.

He relishes the feelings . . .

Oh, oh, oh! How he _loved_ playing martyr . . . yes, yes, pretty Vincent, throw yourself over the edge, no one will notice, no one will hear you scream . . .

Can't escape this cycle, it's taking him over. He's withdrawn greatly from the group.

So cold? Yes, he supposes is. It's not your fault though, at least not directly . . . or maybe he just chooses to see it that way. Sorry, pretty eyed creature, he doesn't want to be this way . . . Or do he?

Doesn't matter. Everything ends . . .

It's all just a matter of time for us . . . hwahahah . . .

Time blurs, everything blurs, becomes one big glazed over mess of twisted feelings.

. . . Does he dream? . . . is this a nightmare? . . . Again? Please, not again . . . .

Immersed in darkness . . . clawing at the lid . . . Do you dream, little experiment, little failure? Oh, but you aren't! You are better . . . much better than anything our 'father' has ever done -- do you have a coffin, too? Do you claw at it --like I do? -- Let him out . . . please? -- The lid moves . . .

But . . .

"Lucrecia?"

Smiles, all smiles, hand on his face . . .

Darkness . . . and alone . . .

"The world will end. It dies, and everything with it . . . and it will be a better place because there will be no suffering . . . no hatred . . . nothing." he's barely aware that he's spoken out loud . . . "However . . ."

He doesn't get to finish the thought.

SMACK!

His cheek stings, particularly because he did not let his head swivel with the blow. He looks down -- aww . . . are you angry, little tiny human? Oh, but you should be happy! You have . . . what I want . . . Why do you glare at me, little girl? . . . are you angry? . . . What I said made you cry . . .

He hurt you, hadn't he? . . . So easy . . .

"SHUT UP!"

Little girl is so angry . . . she howls and screams at him, little one . . .

Delicate . . .

Fragile . . .

Easy to break . . .

Slip and crack . . .

Shatter and disappear . . .

But he can't . . .Why?

_He _has eyes for you . . .

Look! He's gathering emotion . . . more and more . . . like a ripple, like a snowball . . . as an avalanche . . .

Everyone's nice to her, little girl . . . Cloud's girl . . . her Cloud . . . rage, pain . . . frustration.

Destruction.

He thirsts to kill and red and tear . . .

But he doesn't . . . Because he can't . . . Because . . .

_He _is watching . . .

So lucky . . . she is, little human . . . what happens when . . . in the future . . . she has his child, human and --?

. . . a child of Jenova . . .

. . . a second Sephiroth, Tifa-girl. Like the one who killed her father . . .

"How could you say such a thing?!" Rage-rage-rage . . . Tifa-girl . . . "We're fighting to save this planet! As long as we're still alive, there is a chance! There's HOPE! And Life, because Life, no matter how hard it is, is better than Death."

Or sleeping? Is that what she is trying to say, the Tifa-girl? . . . Don't mock him . . . Tifa-girl . . . He hates her as it is . . . and she hates him . . . because . . .

Did she see him look at _him_? . . . Mirroring her look? . . . lovesick and alone . . . Ch' . . . no worries . . . _he _does not care for him . . . only her . . . _he _only has eyes for her . . .

and yet . . .

She's been so bad to _him _. . .

_He _thinks there are so many things wrong with _him _. . . because of her . . . because of that town . . . Nothing wrong with _him_, and _he _thinks there is . . . because he know _his _memories now . . . in that mako-poisoned nightmare, Jenova called to him . . . he heard . . . he saw . . . why did she do that? . . . she hurt _him _. . . why? . . . and _he _only has eyes for her . . .

When has anyone only had eyes for him? . . .

This life better than death . . . ch' . . .

She thinks so? She would, she has Cloud, remember? Some people don't have others to care about them . . .

Did he push them away? . . . Did he push them away because they didn't? . . .

Silly Tifa-girl . . . Thoughtless words, thoughtless action . . . He's not emotionless, not by far.

"Just because you're miserable and indifferent doesn't mean you can let the rest of us who DO care die!"

This is so boring, Tifa-girl. Look . . . She's made his emotions go away . . . Why does she ask questions when he is not listening? Everyone wants an answer, but he has none because he does not know the question . . .

He sighs internally. Indifference is a wonderful thing when you're experiencing it . . . "You are your life experiences . . . " He says offhandedly as he wanders away slowly, not even feeling spunky enough to jump the stairs. "I am as I was treated . . . am treated . . ."

"We showed you compassion!" she screams after him. He pauses just before the stairs.

"And I'm fighting for a cause I do not believe in." he answers calmly and saunter down the stairs.

Now he feels horrible. He didn't mean to fight in front of Cloud. He has enough to worry about. Wretched creature, Vincent grouses at himself as he steps outside. Stupid wretched creature striking out at what makes your cared-for happy . . .

"Nothing's left." He repeats, still vainly trying to tell the world what he thinks of this mess. He speaks on, telling the open air, the empty space, "But . . . not in this lifetime. Not while there are good people here."

And the emptiness answers, "You will live beyond these people . . ."

"Doesn't matter. If I live until the end of the universe . . . I am cold, indifferent, miserable," anger is sweeping over him quicker than he could fight it, and his voice rises, wailing. "You heard her! I don't have a reason! I have nothing but a death-wish! Do your WORST! I don't care anymore. If these genetics mean that I can't be killed, just suffer forever, SO BE IT!"

This wail tries to echo back to him, but it fails. He's screaming, but his echo is muttering, half-hearted.

"Just- . . ." He grips the railing tighter. "Just let these people live. They are good people . . . they try . . ."

"Silly . . . little . . . self-destructive . . . foolish demon . . ."

He sighs. He's not emotionless, he's not indifferent; far from it. He just . . .

"Hides." He mutters to myself. "That was so damned melodramatic . . . So stupid." Drama, for nothing, because all his emotions swell back into him like the tide. The wind swirls around him, picking up his cloak and tugging it over the edge, dragging toward the waters below. Insanity?

"Come . . ." A voice whispers cruelly. "Come, enjoy, no one would notice . . . none would care ..."

He lean out further, peering into the face of . . . something . . . "Is it myself? Am I dragging myself into insanity? Or is it the situation?" He query, blinking crimson eyes. He knows of the alien cells in his body, but he'd never heard Sephiroth before -- never felt the need or the summoning to travel to the north before.

He sits up, confused, blinking. What's going on? Looks around the room, and its then that he notice the skeleton next to him in bed. From the clothes he know it to be Cloud. Darkness swirls around, and that vision is lost and another appears.

Warm lips on his, skin brushes skin. Bright blue eyes glowing, and then a dagger dives into his chest.

He gives a startled cry and tumble backwards over the railing, his cloak tangles with his legs, his own hair blinds him, and when he finally gets a clear view, he's feet away from the water that's not, and then he hits, and sinks.

Down, fills his lungs, cold like ice and hot like fire, screaming, but nothing happens, eyesight blurs, a burning pain in his chest . . .

". . . tried to commit suicide . . ."

Vague drifting . . .

"-right over a mako pool . . ."

"-wonder he survived . . ."

Wait . . . confusion. These memories are not his to remember . . . they blur and mingle with his nightmares . . .

He open his eyes, and there is everyone, standing before him. And . . . himself . . . face red with twisted feelings, angry, his eyes glaring at nothing, to nowhere . . .

And he wakes up to realize that nothing has happened, that its just the day after Aeris and Cloud's day walking in the village . . . however . . .

At this memory, He seethes.

And likes it . . .

**.:.:.TBC.:.:.**

**Author Spoofing:**

_**Reason**_

Finding his reason to fight Sephiroth was easy. For Cloud, to keep him alive, so he could be okay. So that he could have a family. And then Vincent could . . .

He could what?

What would _he_ do?

Hide in his coffin again?

Useless.

Cloud DID burn it, after all . . .

Justi: -.- pyro.

Cloud: OO Am not! (couch behind him bursts into flame.)

Vincent: ... ... ... (arches eyebrow)

Cloud: (sweatdrop) ... no comment.

_**Narcissism**_

Oh, oh, oh! How he _loved_ playing martyr . . . yes, yes, pretty Vincent, throw yourself over the edge, no one will notice, no one will hear you scream . . .

Justi: -.-U wow, talk about narcissism ...

Vincent: ... ... ... I am pretty.

Justi: ... okay, yes, Cloud is definitely more masculine than you! And here I was, planning for you to be Seme!

Vincent: ... ... ... (shoots Justi)

_**Crossover a.k.a WTF?Oo**_

Why do you glare at me, little girl? . . . are you angry? . . . What I said made you cry . . .

He hurt her, hadn't he? . . . So easy . . .

Farfello: Stealing lines hurts God. (shoots Vincent)

Vincent: ... ... ... (blinks at the hole in his chest) ... ... ... (eye twitches)

Farfie: ... ?

Vincent: (turns into Chaos and swallows Farfie)

Everyone else: OO

Chaos: ... Hwahahahah! Yummy ....

Everyone: X.x

_**Eyes**_

Easy to break . . .

Slip and crack . . .

Shatter and disappear . . .

But he can't . . .Why?

Cloud: SEE?! (holds up her father's eyes) n.n

Tifa: OO (faints)

Vincent: ... ... ... Hehehe ... ... ...

Everyone: Oo

_**Prettier**_

Tifa-girl ... He hates her as it is . . . and she hates him . . . because . . .

Tifa: YOU'RE PRETTIER THAN I AM! WAH! (bawls her eyes out)

Everyone: Oo

Vincent: ... ... ... ... Its true ... ... ...

Everyone: -.-U

_**Compassion**_

"We showed you compassion!" she screams after him. He pauses just before the stairs.

"... sorry ...." he shoots her.

Everyone: Oo

Vincent: What? I said everything was better when everyone's dead! Compassion, man! COMPASSION!

Everyone: ... O.O

_**Fangirls**_

The wind swirls around him, picking up his cloak and tugging it over the edge, dragging toward the waters below. Insanity?

Fangirls: WE LOVE YOU! (drags him over the railing by his cloak)

Vincent: ... ... ... ... I feel ... indifferent. (shoots them)

_It was tough for me to decide whether or not I wanted this in First-Person or Third. In Frist, its a lot easier to write Psychotica. In Third, I don't feel as much n the character's head, and so I can't write it as well. But I tried! For you! I tried!_

_My favorite Out-take was the one with the eyes. As a matter of fact, it was the very first I wrote, and sparked me to write others. (Yes, that does mean that I had these meany chapters written before posting any. n.nU I generally do that because I need good responses, and no one generally gets outstanding begging to continue on the first chapter.)_

_For any wondering, I generally ignore Vincent's Chaos Limit Break, and will always default to the Galian Beast for his Limit Break, while the others will mostly have their last Limits. I generally do this because I feel that Galian is a much better limit than any of the others, and this one Chaos/Cloud doujinshi scared me for life. It wasn't the scariest pic I've ever seen, but scarring all the same._

_**Please leave a rant after the snide remark!**_

_And may I say you're looking lovely today!_


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